Standing on the crossroads

I’m covered in these sheets I don’t care too much for.

It’s layer upon layer or color, and then, above all else, there is the taint of red and off-white. They were once vibrant. They were once clean and sleek, without the build up of other materials after so many washes. They were Egyptian and amazing.

I don’t know what happened to all the pleasure. It’s a chore to me now. I feel as if I have to lie in this bed without choice. I have to become apart of the materials, without question, because I have decided to rest here, I have decided to settle.

I become so upset and uncomfortable while resting I have to strip it all off. It’s as if the material itself is corroding me. It can be one of the worst feelings in the world if you are uncomfortable, if you are unsure about your surroundings, if you want out.

It’s not so bad in the summer, though. Half the time I don’t even have to think about it, or my place of rest, because there is so much to do. My mind is occupied with so many outside activities, or visitors, or the sun itself can blind you enough to make you unaware as to what is really going on.

The sheets, well, they are usually on a piled on the ground